


Skin Tight

by Lazarus76



Series: Force Fed [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Beck is still the villain, Beck wants to be a hero, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, M/M, Peter shows compassion, Wanting to be a hero has a dark side, intended weight loss but not healthy, medical treatment without consent, potential triggers for bulimia, you can feel sympathy for beck if you want to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 12:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarus76/pseuds/Lazarus76
Summary: Beck is determined to be seen as a hero.Constructing an image has a price. Especially when Beck can no longer accept reality.





	Skin Tight

“You OK, Boss?”

Beck shook his head, and smiled at William. “Fine.” He nodded to re-enforce his words. “So, the idea is that the elemental takes that side, and I come in...”

William nodded. “There.”

Beck wandered round the room, his face a mask of concentration. “Excellent. Let's begin!”

Playing to an audience, Beck walked round the room, listening to Guterman's lines whilst trying to bark an order at the team. But there was something...not right. He paused, and blinked.

“William!!”

The older man put his phone down and peered myopically over the bank of laptops. “Boss?”

“There's something wrong.” Beck swallowed and raised his voice. “That image...it doesn't look right.”

“What?!” William looked genuinely confused.

“It doesn't look right. The suit...” Beck trailed off, not wanting to expose his sensitivity so openly to his team. William blinked.

“Boss. I'm portraying what's seen. The projectors project that image. So that...”

Beck looked at him. “I'm saying its wrong.” His voice dropped a half octave. 

William shook his head. “No. It isn't.”

Beck couldn't comprehend it. There was no way that he actually looked...like that. No way. 

He looked again, the doubt beginning to slowly creep up his spine. Was it possible? Was it possible he'd become so obsessed with projecting an image that people wanted to see, he'd started to believe it himself?

No, he told himself, confidently. Because that was not what he looked like, and this was the projector catching him at an unflattering angle, and the projectors spewing it back out. 

He did not look like that. It was a mistake. He was standing at wrong angle. That was all. 

He needed to start standing at the right angles again, and all the time. 

Anything else would spoil the illusion. 

________________________________________________________________________

He breathed. In. Out.

The feel of the material was heavy. It pulled against him as Janice fussed, trying to nip and tuck in a seam. He felt the coolness pull against his legs, his abdomen, his back. 

“There,” Janice took a step back, smiling at him. “It looks perfect!”

Quentin turned to the mirror and examined himself. The sleekness of the suit was unrivalled, but it was unforgiving. He turned, twisted, trying to satisfy himself that all the viewer would see were hard lines, powerful tone, a strong, impressive shape. No room for error, or for that marginal inch. 

He frowned. “You sure? It feels a little...tight.”

Janice did not respond. As the seconds ticked by, her silence was more troubling to Beck than if she'd spoken. 

Beck spoke again. “I said, it feels a little tight!”

Janice finally spoke, her voice slightly too high pitched. “I...I'm working with the original suit, Boss. The suit you first wore in Mexico.”

Beck blinked, feeling slightly stunned. “This is the...original? Not a new one that's been cut differently?”

“No,” Janice shook her head. “I've been taking such good care of them that there's no need to create multiple suits as yet.”

Beck turned, and faced the mirror again. It was tight...but the strong lines and flat planes that it had showcased looked softer. As though the suit was beginning to sag. 

But it was skin tight. It wouldn't sag. 

What would sag, he suddenly realised with a sharp jolt of panic, was what was underneath. 

Beck shook his head. This could not continue. This was his life's work. His dream of eclipsing a despised ex-boss was not going to run aground because of...this. 

There was no room for even a marginal inch. 

Anything more would spoil the illusion. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner that night was over quickly. William had to re-design some software, Gunterman finish a script. Beck worked through what was on his plate, meeting the eyes of the others and engaging with the flow of conversation. 

“The attack in Morrocco will go perfectly,” he said quietly, to Veronica. “More publicity, more coverage. The press will be more interested in what happens to wealthy tourists than poor families in rural Mexico.”

Veronica smiled at him. “You'll be all over the news. Everyone will want you.”

“Absolutely!”

“Hopefully the suit will be fine!”

Beck frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“I don't mean anything.” Veronica's voice faltered. “Janice...mentioned that the suit was a little tight on you, but I'm-” she stopped, almost blushing. 

Beck stood up so suddenly he almost tipped his chair over. “Thank you, Veronica. Good night, everyone.”

A chorus of good nights echoed as Beck strode out.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------

He stood up, feeling slightly shaky, but also euphoric. As the water flushed away the swirl of red and orange bile, he reached for a glass, filled it with water, and rinsed his mouth. 

That suit would not be tight. 

It would never be tight.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Morrocco was a huge success. A wealthy family had nearly got dragged into it, and amazingly, Beck had looked even more of a hero. He surveyed the footage on the rolling news coverage in his hotel room, drinking in every image of himself. 

He blinked. That suit...it still looked tight. He leaned closer to the screen. He could have sworn the normal flat plane of his abdomen was being obscured by a bulge. He leaned back, feeling slightly stunned. This was not acceptable. People needed to believe that he was close to a god. 

They needed to believe.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Dinner again was brief. 

He hung his head over the smooth procelain, watching as the traces swirled away. This would stop soon, he promised himself. He just needed to get back in shape. 

Venice was coming. The real beginning of his campaign. 

People needed to believe. If they saw a man with a chiselled abdomen, they'd think he was a hero.

People would believe what they wanted to believe. Beck needed to facilitate that.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well, how does it look?” Quentin took a step forward. “It feels completely comfortable.”

Janice took a step back. “It fits perfectly!”

Beck lifted his arms, and smiled, a trifle smugly. “Yes, it does.” He smoothed the material down over his flat stomach. “I'm ready for Venice.”

“I'm just glad it fits again!”

Beck turned and looked at the older woman, his eyes narrowing rapidly. “What do you mean again, Janice?!”

“I...don't mean anything,” she babbled, a flush starting to rise in her cheeks. “You look great, very...handsome. Very...heroic. I'm sure there's a lucky girl out there just waiting to be rescued!”

“No, you said you're glad it fits again.” Beck had lowered his voice. “Just be honest, Janice. You can be honest with me, the man who pays your salary, the man who saved you from a second-rate job making costumes for some dirt track High School after Stark fired you. You can be honest and say to me- Quentin, you were getting fat!”

“Quentin,” Janice spoke, now with visible tears in her eyes, “I didn't mean that. You were the one who said before Morrocco it felt tight...you're now saying its comfortable. I took that to mean it fitted perfectly. I never thought – I don't think anyone thought-”

"Yeah, well, I've seen the way some of you look at me," Quentin practically snarled. "Look at him, trying to be a superhero, have you seen his size?! But you all need to remember - you're all nothing without me. Nothing. I'm the only one who has had the balls to try and usurp memories of Stark. You're all riding on my back! And you all repay me by mocking me."

Janice was practically sobbing. "Quentin-"

Beck had already swept past her and out of the room.  
\------------------------------------------------------------

Venice had been going perfectly...until that annoying high schooler turned up. Suddenly, he was in a room with the most dangerous man on the planet, a highly skilled female assassin, and a teenager with the most extraordinary athletic physique Beck had seen. 

But he'd fooled him. He'd fooled them all. Standing up straight, he pulled his stomach muscles in to create more of a perfect shape. No way was he going to let them think for a moment he was a mere ordinary human. 

It worked. The kid was staring at him in unabashed admiration. 

Later that night, as he crouched over again, he fleetingly thought of the promise he'd made to himself. He'd stop at Venice. 

But the look in the kid's eyes...that this was what a hero looked like...

Beck leaned over, voiding himself of what he'd consumed. He was growing aware of the odd nudge and look from members of the team. Janice no longer commented on his body when she measured him, clearly afraid of the consequences, but others were starting to...look.

He shrugged, standing up and rinsing his mouth. Let the look. He was the one who pulled in the money and paid them. They would be foolish to criticise him. 

Very foolish. They saw him eat with them. That's what they needed to see. 

People would believe anything.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prague was a resounding success. He and Peter (that was the kid's name, Beck had learned) had even gone out for drinks. Peter sipped his lemonade through a straw whilst Beck pretended to sip at a bottle of Czech beer. A bottle of bloat-inducing, calorie laden beer. He knew Thor had drunk beer, but Thor was a god, with an enhanced metabolism. Not an ordinary human who needed to spend hours in the gym to look passable. 

But it had worked. The faked comaradie and friendliness had suckered Peter. He'd handed over EDITH – the last thing Stark had left him. Beck had barely managed to suppress a wolfish grin as they'd passed into his hand, instead going for one of surprise and affection. 

After Peter had left, Beck had clambered onto the bar to celebrate. As he strutted, he suddenly felt slightly light headed. Ignore it. 

After all, he was a hero in Peter's eyes. And with EDITH in his possession, he'd be a hero in the eyes of the whole world. A little light headedness was a price he'd simply have to pay. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

He stood, as Janice arranged the costume on him. He felt a slight abrasion. “What are you doing?” he snapped. 

Janice flushed. “I'm sorry, Boss – its just the breastplate. It was loose at the sides. I'm just pulling it tighter.”

“Loose?”

“Yes.” Janice looked at him and paused. Beck's eyes bored into hers, as though daring her to speak. “In fact...it looks as though you've lost an inch or more from your chest.”

Beck shrugged, and when he spoke his voice was low and calm. “Well, the straps are leather, Janice. Leather can...stretch.”

The woman nodded, as though relieved he'd come up with an explanation. Silently, she continued arranging the cloak. “There. You look incredible.”

Beck posed in front of the mirror. His skin looked sallow. He shrugged. It was just the lighting. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The practice session was not going well. Beck bit his lip in vexation. William was distracted, and no-one seemed particularly interested. Then there was the blow of discovering that one of Peter's irritating little friends had found one of the projectors. 

Beck glowered. He had to go to Berlin. And deal with a pack of schoolkids who were threatening to derail his new great life's work. 

As he exploded with rage at his team, he felt another sudden jolt of light headedness. It was nothing, he told himself. In the same way the motion suit feeling loose was nothing. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In his hotel room that night, Quentin fretted. Placing EDITH on his face, he ordered the AI to find the locations of Peter and his little pack. As the AI complied, Beck felt a fluttering in his chest. He sat up, and tried to steady his breathing. 

Suddenly, a soft female voice cut through the room. “Quentin?”

“Yes, honey, I'm here. What is it?”

“I'm reading a sudden spike in your heart rate.” Was it Beck's imagination, or did the AI sound...concerned? “Your potassium levels are a little low.”

“I'm good, thanks.” Beck resumed to reading through the script for Berlin. It was only a stir of excitement at finally taking down Peter, he told himself. Nothing to worry about at all.

"Quentin?"

"Yeah, hi honey. What's up now?"

"I feel I should inform you that you are falling into the underweight category for your height."

Beck sighed. "Really?"

"Yes, Quentin. You should really increase your calorie intake, especially of vital carbohydrates."

"This is great," Beck smirked. "My AI assistant is trying to fatten me up. Don't worry, Edith. As soon as we're done with what we intend to do, I will get back to normal."

"You're in danger of losing muscle mass. Including cardiac muscle."

At this, Beck signed. "EDITH. Please. I'm a big boy. I can look after myself."

"My data tells me you're physically shrinking."

"As I said, this is all for the plan." Beck rustled the papers. "As soon as this is over, I'll find myself a good woman who can cook for me and fatten me back up. You don't need to worry."

"OK, Quentin. As long as you know that if your weight drops anymore, I will tell you."

Beck leaned against the pillows on the bed. He felt a slight dizziness, but ignored it. Nothing to worry about.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Berlin was a huge success. Beck couldn't help but smirk as Peter stepped into the path of a train. He shrugged, again suddenly feeling the looseness of the motion suit. 

Didn't matter. It had stretched. Overuse. He strode back to the meeting point, ignoring that his legs felt weak. Just excitement. That was all.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The looseness of the costume was good news, Beck told himself. It was working. It was all working, and he was fast approaching the hero status he deserved, with a body to match. 

At dinner that night, he sat next to Veronica. He'd noticed that members of his team were starting to avoid his eyes, or even avoid talking to him unless they were rehearsing. He frowned slightly. “What is it?”

“Its nothing, Quentin,” she replied, a tad unconvincingly. He looked at her. “No, something's going on. You need to tell me.”

At the commanding tone in his voice, she stiffened. “Well...” she swallowed. “Its just...you're getting, um, too thin.”

He looked at her, slightly shocked. “What did you say?”

“You're getting too thin.” Her voice had gained confidence now. “And...its looking...”

Beck gestured at his half full plate. “You see me eat.”

She blinked. “Yes, but...”

“You see me eat,” he repeated with emphasis. “You see me eat, so I suggest you stop making these remarks.”

“Its just...”

“Just what?”

“If you get too thin, then we're-”

“Well, I'm not.” Beck spoke with bouyancy. “You've seen me eat, everyone does.”

"But, Quentin...if you're -"

He put another forkful in his mouth. Veronica fell silent and turned away. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________

In his hotel room, he was carefully sorting through his packing for London, when EDITH spoke. "Quentin?"

"Yes, I'm here, honey. What is it?"

"You've lost another 2lbs."

"Its my nerves, EDITH." Quentin spoke carefully. "Trust me."

"Quentin, I am worried about you. You do realise that Peter Parker has enhanced strength and stamina?"

"Yes, but I have drones." Beck stretched out on the bed, noticing the way his shirt was falling into the concave hole of his once toned and ripped abdomen. 

"Quentin, you need to look after yourself."

"As I said," he sighed, "once this is over, I'll be looking for a wife. A perfect wife, who will love me and hopefully make me as fat as a pig. Please, EDITH. We have a big day tomorrow."

The AI fell silent. Beck felt a gnawing in his stomach, and ignored it. Just nerves. That was all.

_____________________________________________________________________________

London. Finally, the world would see an Avengers-level threat, and realise that there was only one hero left to save it. 

The drones were in place. The threat appeared real. Beck smirked as the panic and chaos began to erupt on the streets. He strutted in the enclosed space of Tower Bridge, carefully planning the demise of the teenagers who threatened to expose him. 

Except...he'd appeared. He'd appeared, and it had begun to unravel. Beck could feel his heart beginning to pound, but then it was more than pounding. It was fluttering again, a persistent distubed rhythm in his chest. He had lunged forward at Peter, but had underestimated the younger man's strength. 

“Quentin!” EDITH's voice cut through. “Your blood sugar is too low to sustain-”

Beck realised he was on the ground, gasping, choking. A wave of darkness filled his vision. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Mr Beck?”

He blinked. All he could see was white. And a looming shape above him. His heart started to pound as his vision came into focus. Nick Fury. 

“I've got something to tell you. You'll be kept here, in the medical wing of this facility, until you're healthy enough to stand trial. And so you look less like a sad ghoul.”

Beck blinked. “What?”

“Parker pulled you out of the rubble.” Fury looked down at him, a lack of compassion in his face. “I would have left you there after what you did, but EDITH notified Parker that you were weak, with an abnormal heart rhythm and blood sugar that was non-existent.”

Beck fell silent. 

“When you're recovered, you'll be transported to the prison wing.” Fury looked at him. “But I must congratulate you. You look very far from an Avenger. Did you really think you'd get away with it?”

Beck looked at the older man with undisguised contempt.

“People need to believe,” he spat. “And nowadays, they'll believe anything.”

Fury turned and walked out. Beck held up his arm, noting the snaking IV line attached to it, flowing nutrient and calories into his system, and silently screamed.


End file.
